


Defiance and dignity

by MadHatter13



Category: The Memoirs of Lady Trent - Marie Brennan
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Confrontations, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Gen, Healthy Relationships, Internalized Misogyny, Jewish Character, Loving Marriage, Misogyny, Muslim Character, Negative Mother-Daughter Relationship, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Podfic Welcome, The original characters are Isabella's nephew and his wife; the story is set during their wedding, Victorian Attitudes, Weddings, Xenophobia, Xenophobic MACROaggressions, Xenophobic microaggressions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 15:44:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20342602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadHatter13/pseuds/MadHatter13
Summary: ‘A wedding? Whose?’ Asked Isabella.Suhail held up the envelope that had arrived that morning. ‘Says “Gerald Hendemore and Wilhelmina Driscoll”. One of your brothers?’'Nephew.'Suhail had been married for more than a year when he finally met his parents-in-law. Considering Isabella herself did not even want to meet them, it was a wonder it didn't take longer.





	Defiance and dignity

**Author's Note:**

> Set between book 4 and 5, with spoilers up up to and including book 4.
> 
> This fic is meant to explore some of the xenophobia and racism inherent in a setting based off Imperial Britain, and how Suhail might face it given his fantasy!Middle-Eastern background. It contains descriptions of and references to said racism, and a couple of "mild" slurs. It also explores a very negative mother-daughter relationship, and the act of cutting off racist family members. If you as a reader find these kinds of descriptions triggering, this might not be the best fic for you.
> 
> All thanks to ao3 users The_Icelander and strawberriesandtophats for extensive beta reading, and to the former for suggesting the title. Your guys' support is vital in fueling my tendency to write extensively researched fic for very tiny fandoms.

Suhail had been married for almost an entire year before he met his parents-in-law.

Well, there was the matter of deciding in what country he and Isabella would live in. Although, even after the find of the Watcher‘s Heart, there was never any real consideration of them staying in Akhia permanently. Isabella had an entire life, a career, a family in Scirland, not to mention the fact that she was not nearly as adept in picking up languages as he was. Even more significantly, Suhail had never really wished to live out the rest of his days in his home country. There were people there he would miss, in the form of Abu and Umm Asali, and Mahira, and some of his cousins. But aside from them, and the ruins, he had no real attachment to Akhia. The world had always been far too wide for him to believe he could settle in any one place.

Well. At least until he found the person he could happily settle with (as if staying with Isabella could ever be called “settling”)

Still, he stayed behind for several months after Isabella went back to Scirland at the end of her army commission. He still had to process the finds from the Watcher‘s Heart, until the work had progressed to the point that his location in the world while accomplishing it did not really matter. With a complete data set, he could write up the discovery anywhere in the world, be it Akhia, Scirland or even Namequitlan.

Isabella returned, two weeks before his scheduled departure to Scirland, to check up on the House of Dragons, and retrieve the additional data gathered from her experimentation with Honeyseeker eggs. It was a perfectly good reason to come back, considering her research progress. Even though they would have seen each other anyway in just three weeks. There wasn’t really any need to rush. But the way they held each other‘s gaze as her ship came into harbour was an excellent bookend onto that rationale all the same.

And well, even once they got back to Scirland – there was so much to do! A whole new culture to get used to. On the whole, that part did not give him much trouble. After all, he had travelled a significant portion of the world at this point, and could conduct himself reasonably well without being thrown out on his ear because he accidentally broke some social taboo. At this point, he had graduated to manipulating diverse cultural norms to work for _him_, as he had in Keonga, after thinking over some of their ideas about gender.

However, it is not always a matter of _him _getting used to things.

‘Does the server think you deaf?’ Tom asked, eyeing the man retreating from their table across the restaurant.

Suhail smiled thinly. ‘I suspect he thinks I know no Scirling. It is the same across the world – when people don’t think you speak their language, they somehow believe talking louder is the solution.’ Never mind that he had tried to correct him – the man had apparently drowned out his own hearing as well.

Across the table, Isabella’s eyes narrowed, and he could see that it was not quite enough to set her off, but he reached for her hand under the table anyway. ‘You can’t dress down every idiot on my behalf, Isabella.’

‘Oh, can’t I?’ She said, still glaring at the back of the waiter.

Suhail smiled. ‘There aren’t enough hours in the day. And as they go, this one was harmless enough.’

‘I wonder,’ said Tom quietly. ‘There usually is no warning for when they go from ‘harmless’ to ‘harm_ful_.’’

‘Let’s think no more of it,’ said Suhail, far too hungry to spend more thought on the indiscretion of strangers. ‘Tell me of the new results from Dar-Al Tannaneen.’

Isabella gave him a Look as if to say that she knew perfectly well that she was being lead down the path, but she could no more resist talking of her research than he could. Let that be the end of it, Suhail prayed. He was far too busy existing to think much of the misguided prejudice of others.

* * *

The reasons as listed above were in fact diversions. The true reason he hasn’t met Isabella’s parents, or any of her blood family outside of Jake and Andrew is that _she_ did not even want to meet them herself. She had spoken a few times about a time in her own life, before her first marriage, when she was entirely forbidden from pursuing her calling as a scientist. Having experienced much the same thing, although at an older age, and knowing just who it was who instituted this ban, Suhail felt less than charitable towards his parents-in-law. He gathered she was on somewhat better terms with her father, although it did not seem that they spend much time in each other’s company. Her mother, well...

‘She must be absolutely delighted,’ Isabella drawls, reading an article in the _Scirland Times _titled “Remarkable discovery in Akhia heralds new age in Draconian research!!” She leans further back in the armchair, and readjusts the newspaper.

Privately, Suhail thought the second exclamation mark was a bit of an overkill. But, even more privately, he found it one hundred percent warranted. Further down was a subtitle which read “Unexpected marriage in the wake of draconic discovery,” sneaking in a bit of sensationalism along with the scientific reporting. 

In her seat at the study’s sturdy desk, Natalie snorted. ‘Don’t worry, I conveniently _lost_ all the letters she sent to your address while you were in Akhia.’ She had spread out blueprints in front of her like leaf litter. They were improvements on the two-person glider design he had helped her test, and he already itched to find out what it would feel like to fly it.

‘Oh, did you? I did think at the time that there was surprisingly little outrage.’

‘Who are we talking about?’ Suhail asked distractedly. He had once again taken out draconian transcript of the Cataract Stone and was comparing it to later inscriptions to puzzle out the use and frequency of now-known symbols. His mind, as a result, was entirely elsewhere, and utterly failed to read the room. The evolution of symbols over time was giving him some trouble, especially since the regional variation seemed considerable.

‘Lady Hendemore,’ said Natalie darkly, ‘Has a... tendency, to make her opinions known every chance she gets. It’s a pity that she has such a lot of them.’

‘I am told that she is a walk in the park compared to my grandfather,’ said Isabella, still reading the article and tsk-ing occasionally when she ran into minor errors. ‘Although seeing as I never met him, I do not find this much of a consolation.’

‘I still remember the fuss she made when we returned from Bayembe,’ said Natalie. ‘Your old butler was my favourite person then, rest his soul. Ejected her from the house in the most politely withering way possible, with barely a whisker out of place.’ She sounded distinctly satisfied, and Suhail had the mental image of Lady Hendemore being picked up by the scruff of the neck like a disobedient puppy and deposited on the doorstep. Even as he tried not to grin, what must have preceded the incident turned his stomach. ‘Troublesome, was she?’

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ said Natalie. ‘No consideration to the fact that Isabella had just made her career, or returned home entirely in one piece. None of it was good enough compared to the indignity of having left in the first place.’ She shrugged. ‘She wasn’t too happy about me living here either, but that I could live with. The things she said –‘

‘It wasn’t anything new,’ argued Isabella, and her voice was quite deliberately tinged with amusement. ‘Just the same old society gossip, about how I’m a failed daughter, wife, mother, etc. The lack of originality bothered me.’ She turned a page. ‘That was the greatest insult, you know – you’d think she could find a fresh vein of disappointment.’

Natalie caught his eye, and the two of them shared the instant understanding of people who have flown the same glider and also wish merry hell upon one specific person, on behalf of a loved one.

‘Isabella,’ said Natalie softly. ‘I know as well as you that even if that stuff can be ignored from strangers, it’s much more difficult with family, even when you know they are wrong.’

Isabella looked up at that. ‘_I _know that,’ she said, bemused. ‘But I cannot possibly imagine letting it control my life more than it already has. I hardly meet the woman these days, Natalie, and do not need to depend on her anymore, socially or financially. What power does she have to cause me misery now?’

Natalie lapsed into a smile. ‘You’re right. I won’t bring it up again.’ She raised an eyebrow in Suhail’s direction. ‘At least not without cause.’

‘I’m sure there won’t be one,’ said Isabella, and that was that.

For now.

* * *

‘A wedding? Whose?’ Asked Isabella, looking up from where she was enjoying the sun on the balcony. She had one leg over the arm of her chair and was reading a monograph on lizard species differentiation by a friend of hers, much the same way someone else might pick up a novel for easy reading. Summer was slithering towards its final end, but Isabella still managed to hang onto every bit of warmth like a snake reluctant to hibernate.

Suhail held up the envelope that had arrived that morning. ‘Says “Gerald and Wilhelmina Hendemore”. One of your brothers?’

‘Nephew. How time flies – it feels like he was running around playing soldiers five minutes ago.’ She leaned her chin on an open palm. ‘So he’s getting married. And to a very interesting girl, at that. Well, he always was a sweet boy, to his father’s disappointment.’

‘Oh?’ He sat down across from her, handing her the invitation, which had caught his interest in part because it had _both _of their names on it. It had gilt around the edges.

‘His father wanted him to join the army on commission much like Andrew, but he resisted in the most polite manner possible. Said he didn’t much like the idea of shooting at people. And _she _was one of the first female students to attend the Scirland Royal Academy of the Arts.’ Isabella grinned. ‘Caused quite a ruckus a couple years back, as I recall. You see, it was considered unseemly to let female students attend life drawing lessons, but they maintained – rightly so – that they could not reasonably learn anatomical illustration without them. Well, the school board wouldn’t budge, so they held their own classes, modelling for each other and paying a couple of male students to do so as well.’ The grin was absolutely gleeful now. ‘It was an _interesting _fiasco to say the least.’

Suhail’s eyebrows climbed his forehead as far as they would go. ‘And your brother was fine with his son marrying her?’

‘Apparently just fine enough – I didn’t even know they were engaged yet.’

‘Do you want to go?’

Isabella seemed startled, setting down the invitation on a nearby table. ‘I – don’t know. If it was anyone else, I would probably not give it a second thought to decline, but Gerald and I always got along, even if we never spent much time together.’ She paused. ‘Do _you _want to go?’

‘I haven’t been to a Scirling wedding yet – it should be something to behold.’

‘You know what I mean. My own family was no happier about our marriage than yours was. Not to mention that you put up with quite enough ignorance daily without having to deal with it for an entire wedding reception.’

Suhail went to placate her, then hesitated. She wasn’t actually wrong. Quite a lot of Scirlings had problems with an Akhian living in their country, regardless of the political situation between the two countries. Miss Pantel, his student and research assistant, had dryly remarked that it was much the same in her experience, as her mother was Vidwathian, even if she herself was born in Falchester. It was not too often that they showed outright hostility, but few ever approached an obvious foreigner with anything close to dignity.

However... ‘I can handle a day in their company,’ he joked. ‘If you want to go, I could hardly send you in there among the wolves on your own. Besides, it is a wedding, not a den of hungry drakes.’

‘I might take the drakes instead, given the chance,’ she muttered, and he knew she wasn’t exaggerating, since to her the dragons were always the “fun” option. Then she said, ‘I’ll think about it – Gerald might not think much if I don’t go in any case, and if I know my sister-in-law, it will be a _proper_ wedding, with all the trimmings.’ She made a face. ‘It gives me a headache, just thinking of it. Thank God we didn’t waste time on ours. But I still think I should have asked you for more camels as a wedding present. Maybe an additional goat.’

Suhail sent her a sardonic look. ‘If you think we can fit one in the house I’ll have one sent over directly from Quarrat. Where would you prefer to keep it – the bathroom or the dining room?’

Isabella cackled, and tossed the wedding invite on the end table, to be forgotten for the time being.

* * *

Scirling aristocratic weddings were, it seemed to Suhail, rather stuffy. They were also short. While he hadn’t been in Akhia for either of his brother’s weddings, he knew the celebration of the first had lasted for three days – befitting someone of his family status. When Abu and Umm Asali’s eldest daughter married, more than five hundred people had attended, some travelling half the desert, and the food had been truly excellent.

Not that he had much of a leg to stand on. His own wedding had lasted as long as it took to find a judge to officiate, and the only people attending had been Tom and Andrew, to act as witnesses. That caveat had actually been more to serve as testimony for when Isabella returned to Scirland, so that their marriage would be recognized under Scirling law as well as Akhian.

Isabella sat next to him in the back of the temple, quietly whispering clarifications as the ceremony progressed. ‘That’s the groomsman, he’s supposed to duel anyone who challenges the groom for the hand of the bride – although I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that really happening... You don’t use a _chuppah _in Amaneen custom, right? Well, that’s the canopy they’re standing under... Now she’s supposed to walk around him seven times, but these days we mostly stick to three. My head definitely spun after the first two, I can tell you that, but then again I felt pretty nervous...’ They shouted _mazel tov! _with the rest of the guests as the groom broke a wine glass by stomping on it. Afterwards, they had watched as the wedding party pelted the newlyweds with birdseed as they left the temple, which was supposed to bode for a fertile marriage. ‘I kept finding it stuck in my hair for a week afterwards,’ Isabella murmured in his ear, and he tried his best not to laugh.

The wedding dinner itself was somewhat less stale, although Suhail mentioned that you could hardly call it a dinner when it was only four in the afternoon. ‘There’s a law,’ Isabella shrugged. ‘You can’t have the ceremony later than three. Used to be no later than noon, but the temple has loosened up a bit in the last few decades. I suspect it has to do with them wanting to discourage late-night celebrating and associated drunkenness, although Tom tells me they don’t bother with that law in Niddey.’

At first it had appeared that people paid the two of them very little attention. But after only a little while he realized that it was really avoidance. People whom Isabella recognized and greeted responded politely enough. But somehow they always happened to be speaking to someone else, or had to leave, or saw something at the other end of the room that they simply had to attend to. He shared a glance with Isabella, who grinned sharply. ‘The cold shoulder treatment?’ She murmured. ‘Well, it’s nothing less than what I expected. At least they have the decency to gossip where we can’t hear them.’

‘I asked Tom to send us an “urgent summons” by telegram half-way through the celebration, in case we want to leave early,’ he admitted.

‘You genius of a man!’

Just then, a young, guileless-looking man emerged from the crowd, wearing a very expensive-looking dark suit which nonetheless did not really fit his open and friendly expression. ‘Aunt Isabella!’ He cried, walking towards them with open arms. ‘It has been far too long!’ He embraced her, and Isabella, not much for public display, did not seem to mind at all. ‘How have you been?’ He asked exuberantly, then caught sight of Suhail. ‘Oh – this must be your husband!’ Although he seemed like he might be a shy person on a normal day, every sentence was an exclamation. Evidently, Suhail thought, he was very happy to be married

‘Indeed,’ said Isabella. ‘Meet Suhail ibn Ramiz al Aritati.’

‘It’s ‘Lord Trent’ these days, or so they tell me,’ said Suhail, shaking the hand offered by Gilbert. ‘The post office claims it is easier to spell.’ 

‘Nonsense,’ said Isabella. ‘Where is your bride, Gilbert? I hardly got the chance to meet her last when I was in the country.’

‘She and the bridesmaids are up on the landing,’ said Gilbert. ‘They’re her old academy friends, you know – they say they want to try and sketch the wedding reception so that it can be painted later.’ He shook his head, but with a smile. ‘I told her, what is the reception without the bride present? But she said that she wished to remember it from her own point of view.’ He peered over Isabella’s shoulder, then brightened up even more, if that was possible. ‘Oh, here she comes!’

The woman who emerged from the crowd wore a white dress that looked like the entire frosting supplies of a bakery had been utilized to create every swirl and excessive detail of fabric. The woman herself was short and stocky, with a square face and a strong jaw, a look of concentration on her face, but she too lit up in a smile when she saw her husband. ‘There you are!’ She said, picking up her skirts to hurry across the floor, nearly elbowing a man in coattails out of the way in the process. ‘I am quite out of charcoal, can’t seem to find the box I kept in the desk drawer –‘ 

Without a word, Gilbert pulled a slim pencil case from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. She lit up like a dynamo-powered light bulb. ‘Oh, you’re a lifesaver!’ She kissed his cheek, causing Isabella to awkwardly clear her throat, and the bride seemed to notice them for the first time. ‘Introduce me?’ She asked.

‘Oh – of course! Wilhelmina, this is my aunt Isabella and her husband. And this is my wife,’ he said, savouring the word, ‘Wilhelmina Hendemore,’ he added, taking her arm and turning proudly to Isabella.

‘Congratulations on your marriage,’ said Suhail.

‘Thank you,’ said Wilhelmina brightly. ‘I thought I had met all of Gil’s relatives, but I suppose some families are larger than others. Thank you for coming – sorry about the catering,’ she added in a stage-whisper. ‘I’m afraid much of it can be blamed on my mother.’

‘Not at all,’ said Isabella, although Suhail had heard her comment on it not ten minutes earlier. She wasn’t wrong either – a distressing number of dishes seemed to be made entirely of cream and frosting, with perhaps a discrete layer of cake hiding near the bottom. ‘And may I congratulate you on your graduation from the Academy – although it is more than a year passed.’

‘Oh – thank you!’ Wilhelmina seemed, if anything, even happier at this. ‘It did take an extra year, but I suppose I got the same amount of education regardless.

‘I have seen some of your work,’ Isabella continued. ‘If you’re ever looking for employment as a scientific illustrator, let me know.’

‘Hang on – you’re _that _Isabella?’ Wilhelmina’s eyes went wide. ‘Wait, that must mean –‘ She turned to Suhail. ‘_You _published that book on the Draconean excavation in Akhia!’ Her eyes went even wider, and she almost see-sawed as she leaned over her husband’s arm to say, ‘The illustrations were _masterful! _I’ve seen them up against photographs of the place and I can hardly say which is the superior record!’

Suhail smiled. ‘I have Isabella entirely to thank for that. We could have had no better artist on site during the excavation.’

Isabella waved a hand dismissively. ‘I am only self-trained,’ she said to Wilhelmina. ‘And in any case we did not bring any cameras with us the first time around. Truly I wish I had received your education.’

Wilhelmina shook her head. ‘Your work is surpassed by none in the field – even though I would rather pursue painting myself, even I can see that!’

The two of them descended into shower of professional compliments to each other, and Gilbert simply looked on with affection. ‘She is far too humble about it, you know,’ he said, leaning towards Suhail. ‘I’ve never seen talent like hers. I hope she realizes one day the remarkableness of her work.’

‘God willing,’ said Suhail, looking from her to his own wife. ‘Although it may always be much too amazing to take in all at once.’

It was then that he noticed the expression change on her face, going from intense and excited investment in the conversation, to closed-off and neutral. Gilbert looked up as well, and said, ‘Oh, grandmother – how was your travel from the estate?’

The older woman approaching now seemed... Normal. Suhail did not know what he had expected Isabella’s mother to be like, but she was dressed much like most women of her age and membership in the aristocracy – although his main introduction to that particular class had been Miriam Farnsworth, who normally wore tweed everything and always had at least one pair of birding binoculars on her person. But Lady Hendemore exuded a chilliness which could be felt across the room. ‘It was most adequate,’ she said, nodding stately to her grandson and his new wife. Then she inclined her head the barest fraction towards her daughter. ‘Isabella.’

‘Mother.’ The change in her was immediate. His wife was not normally poised – rather she tended to remind you of a bird of prey of some sort; temporarily perched, but liable to strike at any moment, whether it be for an interesting conversation or with a cutting remark. Now, however, she was as stiff as a board, her shoulders heralding the knots to come.

Suhail stepped in. ‘Lady Hendemore,’ he said, bowing.

He saw the way she looked him over, stopping at his jacket and cravat with a furrowed brow, the way her mouth quirked at his accent and the shade of his skin, and the thousand and one other objections that raised a flag somewhere behind her eyes. He found it remarkable how Scirlings who did not like the sight of a foreigner in their country objected even more to one who dressed like them, rather than in accordance with their own origins. It was almost as if they thought it an attempt at disguise, or a disgraceful blending of customs that was even more dangerous than an immediately obtrusive Other who did not in any way blend in.

‘Hm,’ was all she said. Then, ‘Gilbert, do come this way, the dancing will begin soon.’

‘Oh – of course,’ said Gilbert, breaking a silence so awkward that it had nearly developed a personality of its own. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere except in the middle of this confrontation himself. ‘Er, lovely to meet you, aunt Isabella – come on, Wil.’

‘It was so great to meet you,’ said Wilhelmina, eyes going back and forth between Isabella and her mother. ‘Do let me have your mailing address before you leave.’

The three of them left for the ballroom. At Suhail’s side, there was the distinct silence of Isabella fuming in a way that might very possibly result in an explosion at a later date.

‘Well, you did say it was no less than you expected,’ he said.

‘That is no excuse,’ she said sharply. ‘That gives her no right to snub you like that- ‘ She cut herself off as her voice began to carry to nearby guests. ‘I am of the mind to make a scene,’ she warned.

‘You think I’m here to stop you?’

She raised an eyebrow at him. He smiled. ‘Well, you are so talented at just that. But I will say that you might wish to pick one that you think you might look back on with smug satisfaction rather than embarrassment.’

She hesitated. In the next room, there were the strains of an orchestra playing the first measure of a waltz. ‘Can you dance?’ She asked.

‘I know twenty-four different styles of dancing,’ said Suhail.

‘You _do_?’ She looked completely blindsided by this.

‘I have been to quite a few places,’ he said. ‘Even in those where I have not easily picked up on the language, people normally feel much more positively towards you if you can join the fun in some way, and dancing is a universal kind of entertainment.’

‘Even partnered dances?’ Said Isabella, but her challenge hid a smile.

Suhail matched it with a grin of its own. ‘How do you think men cope on long sea voyages? Don’t you remember the _Basilisk? _If I recall, Aekinatos and his first mate were extremely good at the tarantella.’

‘God, I do remember,’ she said. ‘I’m convinced that was half the reason he was so disagreeable when he broke his leg.’ She bit her lip. ‘Can you waltz?’

‘Shall we find out?’

* * *

Heads turned. Hands were raised to mouths. People whispered.

And that was even though it turned out they could keep in step with the music quite easily. Neither of them had managed to step on each other’s toes, either. ‘We must be quite the spectacle,’ he whispered in her ear.

‘I sure hope so,’ she said. ‘I did not take six years of dancing lessons to be ignored.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘We all had to. It was a “vital” part of catching a husband, according to conventional wisdom.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘Well, you seem to have done well for yourself regardless,’ he joked.

‘_Suhail_.’

He grinned. Then his voice softened. ‘Why is it important?’ There was no challenge in the words, just an honest inquiry.

‘I won’t let them ignore you – ignore _us_,’ she said with surprising venom. ‘That is what almost all of them have attempted to do since we arrived. Well, I would rather have them gossip than pretend that you don’t exist, just because our marriage is not congruent with their expectations.’ She caught his eye then, and smiled. ‘This may be a useless display – but I shall feel better for it. And the additional prize of getting to dance with you is a surprising bonus.’

‘You flatterer.’

She laughed, loud and brash, and heads turned across the ballroom. He couldn’t bring himself to care even a little bit, and indeed he hadn’t ever since they first got married. How could he ever have refused her proposal when the way she refused to live at the mercy of others’ opinion had been one of the things that drew him to her in the first place?

The waltz ended with some confusion from the string orchestra (which had obviously been dipping into the wine supplies) and they stepped from the floor when the band moved on to something neither of them recognized. Almost immediately though, they were confronted by Lady Hendemore, lips white with restrained anger, eyes shooting sparks as she said in tones utterly restrained, ‘Isabella, I wonder if I could have a moment of your time?’

Isabella jutted out her chin, and said, ‘Yes, I thought you might, mother.’ Out of sight from Lady Hendemore, her hand reached back for Suhail’s and squeezed tightly. Not as if in fear, but as if searching for additional reserves of strength. He squeezed back.

‘The men are moving on to the smoking room,’ said Lady Hendemore. ‘At least those not dancing. I am sure your... husband would prefer to join them.’

Suhail opened his mouth to say that in fact he would not, but Isabella squeezed his hand again and let go. ‘Yes – I believe the two of us should have a little chat.’ She caught his eyes for a second, nodding so slightly that he might have even imagined it, then stepped away with her mother.

He stood there, chewing on his tongue as they disappeared into the crowd. Just then, Gilbert passed him by, and stopped for a second. ‘We’re going to the drawing room for a smoke, if you’re not busy?’ He said. ‘Did you see where aunt Isabella went? Wilhelmina wants to get her postal address.’

Suhail snapped out of it. ‘I’ll give it to her. And I don’t have anything better to do.’ That was probably less friendly than Gilbert deserved, but he was feeling angry enough that some of it was coming out sideways.

But Gilbert only smiled. ‘Great! Come on, it’s mostly my old school mates, and some neighbours.’

Suhail did not feel particularly old most days, but standing around making small-talk with a bunch of young men hardly out of adolescence didn’t really sound like a good time for anyone. Nevertheless, he allowed himself to be politely herded into a room far too small for the amount of tobacco smoke present. From the available evidence it seemed that the only thing on offer were oddly small cigars. He could take smoking or leave it, although he’d indulged in it for social reasons while travelling, especially in Vidwathia, and sometimes at home in Akhia. He doubted, though, that any of these starchily dressed men had ever seen a huqqa. He accepted a cigar from the host, and lit up somewhat fastidiously with a match passed around the circle. It wasn’t bad quality tobacco, but smoking had never really done much for him. What it did help with, though, was to give your hands something to do while you dug desperately for small-talk. At one end of the room, a young man descended into a coughing fit as he inhaled the smoke wrong, and was soon surrounded by friends pounding him on the back. From where Suhail was standing, this only seemed to make things worse.

‘Poor lad,’ said a man to the right of him. He was perhaps twenty years older than Suhail, and had some rather impressive sideburns. ‘First time, do you think?’

‘Oh – yes.’

‘Takes them all like that to start with,’ the man observed. ‘At least this one didn’t light his shirt on fire.’ He grinned, but not unpleasantly. ‘Sir Trevor H. Cunningham,’ he said, with a nod. ‘I work with the groom’s father in administration. And yourself?’

Suhail introduced himself.

‘An archaeologist? You must be the Akhian fellow, then. Tell me, you wouldn’t know anything about this new trade discussion we’re having with your lot?’

Suhail smiled. ‘I don’t have anything to do with politics if I can help it.’ This was not strictly true. He knew quite a lot about it after having been involved with his brother’s ventures into international politics for several years. He just didn’t really want to spend the evening talking about it.

‘Me neither – which is rather a bother, since it has somehow become my career. If left to my own devices I’d be an amateur lepidopterist for the reminder of my days.’ He looked rueful. ‘Never published anything, but then again that is for them as has the talent for writing.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Suhail. ‘I’ve read a fair few books whose author never should have picked up a pencil.’

Sir Trevor laughed loudly, and said, ‘I rather think I should introduce you to a friend of mine – Neville, come over here, do!’

A man, younger than Suhail but not as young as the near-adolescent boys peppered around the room laughing a bit drunkenly at each other’s jokes, walked over. He had not only the sideburns but the beard and moustache as well. They seemed engaged in a war for the remaining bits of face, but were kept so strictly in order that Suhail got the impression that he shaved with a ruler. ‘This is Ronald E. Chuffley, with the foreign office. Ronnie, this is the chap that’s been in the papers lately!’

‘Oh? How interesting,’ said the man in a drawling voice that drew out the vowels until each one sounded like a yawn. ‘Been a real fuss over it lately, what?’

Suhail nodded politely. Despite the man’s words, he did not sound like he had ever been interested in anything in his life, ever. And although Suhail could normally talk about his work until the sun went down, he did not feel like throwing words into a bottomless well just then.

‘Amazing discovery, wasn’t it?’ Said Sir Trevor, beaming. ‘I cannot imagine what it must have been like to uncover.’

‘It was certainly a once in a lifetime experience,’ said Suhail, as if remembering it doesn’t still fill his lungs with fire and his bones with air, as if he might float off the ground. ‘It will be the work of a lifetime to conserve.’

‘Yes,’ says the drawling man. ‘We’ve debated long and hard at the office about its implications.’

‘I should think they’re enormous!’ Said Sir Trevor. ‘After all, it can tell us so much about the Draconians!’

‘I suppose that is important as well,’ said the man, as if he did not believe this to be the case. ‘But I gather that the question of ownership has arisen.’

Suhail’s brow furrowed. ‘Ownership?’

The man gave an indulgent grin. ‘Well, it was a Scirling lead expedition, wasn’t it? That could lead to reasonable claim that the treasure is the property of the Scirling Crown.’

Suhail found himself praying, and not for the first time, that God save him from men who speak of archaeological finds as “treasure”. He knew they did not mean it the way he might, seeing the potential in what objects from the past might reveal about the people who created them. No, their meaning lay in thinking them objects with_out_ meaning, trophies of conquest or knick-knacks that could hopefully be melted down into something more “useful”, like currency or weaponry. Suhail mentally counted to five before replying. ‘Unless I am mistaken,’ he began, ‘The discovery was made on Akhian land, in an area that has historically been Akhian for centuries, and received protection immediately from the Sultan once it was declared – on top of being found on a _joint _expedition between Akhian and Scirling researchers.’ He paused. ‘But after all, I just lead the excavation of the Watcher’s Heart, so I could be wrong.’

Chuffley (and what a stupid name that was) raised an eyebrow at him, like he might if a mouse had stood on two legs and spoken to him. ‘I gather that an officer of the military was present, along with one of our foremost scientists, both of them men of great renown. That sounds like the basis of a reasonable claim to me.’

Sir Trevor is looking from one of them to the other now, eyes wide, evidently now recognizing his own lapse of judgement in instigating this conversation.

‘Interesting,’ said Suhail. ‘You draw attention to Captain Hendemore, who was no there in an official capacity, and conveniently forget that Sir Thomas is Niddeyan, while ignoring the one scientist present who was both Scirling and contributed to the eventual publication of the discovery. And who happens to be my wife.’

The man’s face went red, or seemed to as far as it was possible to tell between all the facial hair. ‘Niddey is a property of Scirland!’ He said stiffly. It was a weak argument, and he knew it, even if he refused to acknowledge it. Suhail wondered how long that would remain true, since he’d heard quite a bit about the Niddeyan independence movement from Tom. As it turned out the man could be quite the anarchist where polite society couldn’t hear him.

Then the abominable man continued, ‘In any case, I can’t image what sensible man would seriously consider the claims of a woman scientist.’

‘Then I pride myself on being insensible,’ said Suhail. ‘And I find great comfort in the fact that the site is so well hidden that anyone interested in making a _claim_ could search a hundred years and never find it.’ He nodded goodbye to Sir Trevor (who to his credit was looking immensely regretful, whether that was out of social discomfort or genuine resentment towards Chuffley) and turned to leave the smoking room.

Behind him, the man muttered a word. It was not the first time that Suhail had been called that word, by far. It was uttered just loud enough that the man _meant _for him to hear it, but low enough that he could reasonably deny it to his companions in case Suhail struck him for it. He knew this because he wanted nothing so much in that moment as to strike him – but after a second’s break in his step, he continued out the door. He did not look back.

* * *

It took a little while, but eventually he found out where Isabella and her mother went. He searched the ground floor fruitlessly, until a servant helpfully pointed him up the stairs to the second floor. Then, he didn’t have to look any more, because he could hear the shouting through the door of what is probably a guest bedroom.

‘You were making a scene!’

‘Yes, I thought that might be what made you so angry,’ said Isabella tiredly. It sounded as if she had been holding back, but was at the end of her rope. ‘After all, it has been all that concerned you these past dozen years. Hell, why start there? The entirety of my life, really.’

‘Isabella, do not _swear_!’

‘Sorry, I’ll try to watch my goddamn language.’

Lady Hendemore could be heard to tsk in disgust. ‘You are only being vulgar, now. I knew you could not be reasoned with.’

If Suhail concentrated, he was pretty sure he can _hear_ the expression on her face. Utter cold resentment and distaste. ‘No, I can’t – and that is because nothing you say is based in rationale. It confused me, when I was younger. You know, I used to think you weren’t very intelligent, because you didn’t talk science or politics or literature. But that was my mistake. I knew I had to get it from somewhere, and father, bless him, has never been a very original thinker. You’re frighteningly clever, actually – because you know every in-and-out of how this society works, and you’ve made it work to your advantage, to gain power over other people. You became the paragon of virtue by following all the rules, at least where people could see you – and you enforced them like a whip against those who don’t. And that makes you better than them, doesn’t it? So without realizing, they give you power to cause them misery, even when none of those rules mean anything.’

‘You’re raving, Isabella. If these are the effects of consorting with some barbaric desert-bandit –‘

Isabella laughed – no, _cackled_. ‘You’re remarkable! Absolutely stupendous! I know _you _know for a fact that he’s born into a family far more powerful and respected than ours – but that isn’t what it is about, is it? It is enough that he is _foreign_. Then the rest does not matter to you. Unless, per chance, if it had given you some kind of political sway. But even then I doubt you could be bothered to pay him even half the respect he deserves.’ Her voice took on an edge so hard that it cut. ‘And if you speak of him like that in my presence ever again, let us hope I do not have any dragons on hand, or you shall very much regret it.’

‘Isabella, are you threatening _violence_?’

‘Maybe I am. Wouldn’t be the first time. Wouldn’t be the first time I acted on it, either.’

There was an outraged gasp, and then the voice that came back was a hiss. ‘I should have done something, when you decided to leave your son behind to go gallivanting to some backwater. We should have raised him away from you – at the age he is now there is no undoing the damage you’ve done parenting him now. God only knows if you have more children with _him._’

All she got is a dismissive snort. ‘Oh, as if you give a toss about Jake. And I’ll freely admit that I haven’t been the best mother to him. But at least I made different mistakes as a mother than you did.’

Suhail couldn’t take any more, and raised his hand to the door knob.

‘Please don’t.’

Suhail blinked, and then turned around to see Wilhelmina sitting on the steps, in the shadow of the banister, the sleeves of her wedding dress smudged with charcoal, a half-completed sketch on her lap. ‘Excuse me?’ He said.

‘I can’t stop you, of course,’ she said, not looking up from the drawing. ‘It’s probably none of my business, either. But unless she asked you to, I don’t think you should go inside.’

Suhail felt his nails dig into the palm of his hand. He hadn’t realized he was clenching his fists this whole time. ‘You’re right, it is none of your business. But if you acknowledge that then I would like to know why you told me anyway.’

She leaned an elbow on her knee, and glanced up at him. ‘I guess... I’ve been there.’ She smudged the charcoal drawing a little, making shadow from a straight line. ‘Gil’s father wasn’t at all happy that I’d be marrying him. Because I wasn’t of the right social class, and because I was educated. He tried all he could to convince him not to, but Gil wouldn’t budge, bless his heart. And Gil isn’t the eldest, so he couldn’t argue that he had a specific duty to his family in that regard. Well, eventually Mister Hendemore came to me to make his Opinions known. He couldn’t change my mind either, and I had my say. And I’m glad, you know, that Gil wasn’t there, because it would have become just another shouting match. But I said my piece, and now I can safely think no more of my father in law, because he has no power over me.’

‘I don’t know if it will have an end,’ Suhail argued. ‘She has put up with this for, God Almighty, decades, at this point.’

‘That’s what an end is _for_,’ said Wilhelmina. ‘There comes a point where it’s up to you, and no-one else, whether you let people like that hurt you or not. You can’t be saved or protected by someone, because once they are gone or busy or change their mind, you’re out in the open again. So it has to be you,’ she said, going back to the drawing. ‘Who says ‘no more.’’

He wanted to argue – that she did not have to argue on his behalf, which he was perfectly capable of himself. But he remembered that he had asked the same of her, when they had announced their marriage to Husam. He had wanted to shield her from the flaming row they’d ended up having, not because she couldn’t handle it, but because she didn’t _have _to. Especially when he had then been more or less disowned by his brother and not had cause to spend much time around him afterwards.

He did not get the chance to make a decision, because the door opened, and Isabella exited, face set in firm defiance, but tension all along the whole of her body like a steel wire. She did not walk right into him, as Suhail had moved over to the staircase where Wilhelmina was sitting. Still, there was no way to make it look as if they had not been listening at the door. Not that Suhail particularly wanted to pretend in that moment.

Isabella drew a quick breath. ‘Let’s go home,’ she said. Suhail only nodded.

Wilhelmina rose from the third step, and edged forward to hand Isabella a slip of paper. ‘In case you want to get in touch. Don’t worry about yours, I’ll ask Gilbert for your address.’

Isabella gave her a strained smile, even though it was clear she appreciated it. ‘Thank you. Sorry about the fuss, I didn’t mean to start a family feud at your wedding.’

Wilhelmina shrugged philosophically. ‘I’ll be surprised if you were the only one; it seems to be what these events are for. Maybe we can talk without interruption some other time.’ She said discreet goodbyes to the two of them, and Suhail couldn’t help but appreciate that she wasn’t drawing any kind of attention to their departure. Lady Hendemore had yet to emerge from the room into the hall, which might be for the best, because Suhail could not be held responsible for his words had she shown her face.

They disappeared down the stairs without words exchanged, and out the front door. Outside, their personal carriage was waiting. Isabella only bothered retaining one, she told him, after she realized it cut her commute to the library in half. There was no footman, just a driver, because she had never gone in for excess. He was sitting in the driver’s seat, eating a sandwich, but didn’t seem too surprised to see them leaving the party this early.

‘Back to Falchester, Mister Harrison,’ said Isabella, opening the door and climbing into the coach without any finesse, as if she had momentarily forgotten she was wearing skirts instead of her field gear.

‘Yes, m’lady.’ The sandwich disappeared, and as soon as they closed the door and taken a seat, he snapped the reins and the ride back home began.

Neither of them said anything for a good long while, not for a lack of trying on Suhail’s part. He had too many things he wanted to say, and none of them wanted to come out the right way. Eventually he managed, ‘Isabella –‘

‘Don’t.’ She said, with a sharp shake of her head. ‘I – I can’t, not right now.’

Which was fine, but he could tell from the tension in her that if she didn’t say or do _something_, she very well might explode. When he first met her, it had seemed to him that she was not as repressed as most Scirlings he had met. Or northern Anthiopeans in general, who tended to keep a stiff upper lip you could balance a pencil on. The longer he’d known her, though, he had realized that even if she was willing to shirk many social rules when they ceased to impress, she kept a dreadfully tight hand on her emotions to the point of ruthlessly suppressing them until she couldn’t any longer. Were she a steam engine, the pressure gage would be edging dangerously towards the red just then.

They were out on the country roads now, passing by a seaside cliff, far away from any dwellings. Making what could be referred to as an executive decision, Suhail slid back the panel between them and the driver’s seat.

‘Stop the carriage, if you please.’

‘Right away, sir.’

Isabella raised an eyebrow at him in inquiry, but he just got up and stepped out of the carriage, turning back to offer his hand so she might follow him down the step without tripping on her skirts. She hesitated, but did just that, and stepped down onto the flints of the road. ‘What are we here for, exactly?’ She asked, looking around at the empty hills and windy cliffside.

He led her by the hand to the edge of the cliff, which stretched down into broken skerries and rocks, throwing up white water far below them. He nodded. ‘Do you want to go first, or should I?’

Isabella’s eyebrows shot up her forhead. ‘I know I said, “in sickness and in health”, Suhail, but I’m pretty sure that does not include jumping off a cliff with you!’

He laughed. ‘It is a thought, but even I have my limits. No, it is only the next best thing.’ She looks puzzled. He continued. ‘I know you have some things you want to get out. So do I. Well, nobody can hear us out here.’

She took a moment to grasp what he meant, then did a double-take to make certain. He nodded encouragingly. ‘Go on.’

She hesitated again. He thought she might shake off the suggestion, call him absurd and go back to the coach. Then she took a sharp breath, and without a warning screamed at the ocean loud enough to make his eardrums ring. Feeling intense relief, he let go a scream of his own, aimed in the general direction of the horizon. She joined him, ending on a curse word entirely inappropriate to women of her status, and relished it. They continued, Isabella stringing out every vulgar epitaph she ever learned, whether as an attentive child or an inventive young woman or a fast learner on a ship full of sailors. Suhail swore eloquently in eight languages, both at specific people who deserve his anger and at the world in general. It was a two-person shouting match, except instead of yelling at each other they were shouting down all of Creation together, from the bottom of the anger in their stomachs. When they were both out of breath, the wind whipping at their hair and their clothes, Isabella rocked back on her heels as if pushed, breathing laboured, eyes wide on the horizon. Suhail could feel his heart pounding in his chest and in his ears, and feels better for it. She was still holding his hand, and squeezed absentmindedly as the tension seems to slowly drain from her shoulders. ‘The sun is getting lower,’ she said distantly. ‘We’d better be getting home.’

‘Let’s.’ They turned back, and Isabella groaned and hid her face when she recalled the driver.

‘Oh, god. I forgot.’ The man, to his credit, looked as if nothing more exciting than the scenery had taken place before him. Suhail couldn’t quite decide if that was worse than if he looked at them with all the bewilderment they so richly deserve.

‘Well, look on the bright side,’ he murmured as they got back in the coach. ‘It’s not the strangest thing he’s seen us do.’

‘You were the one flying that glider, not me,’ Isabella murmured back, getting back on the coach. ‘For all he knew I was just married to a mad person instead of being one myself.’

Suhail failed to stifle a smile, and she caught it when he closed the door and sits across from her. She gave a smile of her own, once the coach started moving again. ‘Thank you.’

* * *

It was a day or two before they could talk about it properly. She told him about what he missed of the conversation with her mother, and he told her of the smoking room.

‘If I ever see that man with my own eyes, I will feed him to the nearest wolfdrake,’ she wowed, getting up from her chair to pace angrily around the room.

‘Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t,’ he said. ‘That would be animal cruelty, since he would surely give any creature with taste a stomach-ache.’

She grinned sharply but did not laugh at the joke. Outside, rain hammered on the window of the study. The lamps were lit, but they only served to outline the gloominess of the afternoon. ‘You know, I become ever more nostalgic for uncivilized places, far away from any and all people. There they would not treat you as a second-class citizen, and I could get away with murder without consequences.’

It was only slightly frightening when she was like this. Given her history these were not empty words. But then again it was not as if his hands were entirely clean either, and he did not think she would seriously act on it except in extreme circumstances of life-and-death. Besides, it was quite heartwarming, really.

‘I wished you had let me say my part to your mother,’ he said, because it was the truth.

Isabella nodded, because it was not as if he was wrong to feel that way. ‘I know. But I had more or less cut ties with her, and much of that lot already. I could ignore her saying such things to me, but I drew the line at her speaking to Jake years ago. And I won’t have her ugly words anywhere near you. Not because I think you can’t handle it,’ she said, at his expression. ‘But because you don’t have to. I loathe the idea of exposing you to malice and cruelty when I could prevent it.’

And there was nothing he could say to that, because he did very much the same thing for her.

‘Besides,’ said Isabella with her own attempt at humour. ‘I had some malice of my own to work off. And no doubt the dull creature thought I married you only to spite her.’

Suhail glanced up, and saw his own face in the window. ‘I suppose I will never be able to pass for Scirling, whether I dress as one or not. Likely it is a wasted effort on my part. People like that will only see difference even when they could find something in common.’ He grinned, but his heart wasn’t in it. It was not that he wanted to be anyone but who he was; simply that he wished others would not look for reasons to resent him for it.

Isabella looked at him with an urgency, then abandoned her pacing to walk across the room and sit across from him. ‘Then let me say this right now, not out of spite to anyone, but because it is the truth.’ She took his face in both hands. ‘I love it when you pause the day to pray, whether we are at home or in public. I love it when you wake up in the morning and it takes you a full minute to work out what language you should be using, and you work your way through Akhian and Yelangese and Hungese and Puian and Thessoin or a dozen others before you remember you’re in Scirland. I love it when you reflexively say ‘as-salamu alaykum’ and ‘insha'Allah**_‘ _**whether whoever you‘re speaking to knows Akhian or not. I even love when you complain about the coffee.’

Suhail laughed.

With a fierceness and reverence that could have stopped his heart, she said: ‘I love all of these things that mean you do not fit in here, because they are an inextricable part of you. So how could I _not _love them?’

Suhail felt his throat constrict, and leaned his forehead against hers, eyes flickering away from her eyes and back again. ‘Well, it is not as if I am going to change,’ he quipped. ‘You’re not the only one who knows how to be spiteful, you know.’

Isabella kissed him, firm and gentle and _them_, and he let himself fully appreciate how everyday it had become, and how lucky that made him. ‘To being spiteful,’ she said, as if making a toast.

Suhail smiled. ‘To spitefully being,’ he said.

* * *

A couple weeks later, a cardboard tube arrived in the mail, containing a cleaned-up charcoal drawing of a dancing pair in an ornate Antitheopean ballroom. A few of Isabella’s curls had slipped from her pinned hair, in that drawing, and she had her head thrown back, laughing. Suhail’s signature smile was on full display, hard to tell whether the joke being laughed at was of his own making or whether his joy was in her laughter. There were distant shadowed figures in the background, but they were faceless; of no importance.

Isabella loved it as much as he did, and it hung in their study for as long as they called that place a home.

**Author's Note:**

> *So I realize canon implies Isabella cuts off communications with much of her family but doesn't tell us if it's quite this awful. I decided to make it as terrible as possible without being outright abusive. I like to believe that Isabella's mother is actually very intelligent, but uses it to navigate the society she lives in, and to use it to her advantage, unlike her daughter, who chafes at it.
> 
> *Bachman, Tromp and Kaufman write in the book "Fear, Loathing and Victorian Xenophobia": “Victorian xenophobia (was) a way of interpreting the perceived foreignness of people, objects and locations as a threat to English culture and identity. It is the possibilities – the contingencies – that drive this vision and its attendant fears, and that ultimately reflect Victorian anxieties about its own identity in a moment when it was being reshaped by powerful new forces. Thus, the image of the foreigner often grew out of concern over changing identities, or fear that self and other/foreigner could or might merge. It is the possibility of merging that gives rise to intense anxieties and antipathies that define Victorian xenophobia. (...) Xenophobia circulates around and is produced by an ambiguous and elusive concept of “foreignness”. Foreignness becomes problematic in the popular British consciousness, in part because it cannot be fixed; its boundaries are constantly shifting. While concepts such as “race” may be biologically empty, they often have definable and relatively stable material markers, and this perceived stability permits us to believe we can name, identify and often manage it. “Foreignness” resists clarity and categorization.”
> 
> *I really wish Chuffley and his superiors were an exaggeration in terms of attempted cultural theft, but this kind of bullshit is pretty standard for the British Empire. Did I also use them as a proxy to express my own anger and frustration as a professional archaeologist at colonial empires who refuse to repatriate stolen artifacts? You bet!
> 
> *The wedding traditions described by Isabella are mostly jewish, as Marie Brennan made the main religion in Scirland judaism, with a couple (the dueling best man and the birdseed) belonging to English upper class Victorian era wedding traditions. The ones described by Suhail are the wedding traditions of the Bedouin and associated ethnic groups, since (as far as I've been able to tell) Suhail's extended family are based off of the Bedouins of our world, along with being muslims by any other name. If you think I've misstepped in my representation of these cultures, let me know in the comments.
> 
> *Sometimes, you just gotta scream your frustration at a xenophobic world with your spouse at the edge of a cliff. It's a better option than repressing it!  
I didn't want to erase the very real prejudice they both face (definitely moreso Suhail, but Isabella by extension due to their relationship). But I also wanted them to have the last word. And for them, the last word is to cease contact with the people who treat them with prejudice and malice. Sometimes that's all you can do to protect yourself and your loved ones, and at the end of the day, just existing as you are can be a form of defiance.


End file.
